


Neighbors

by orbitium



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beekeeping, Death of the author; let's claim our inheritance, Dementors in space, Family Issues, Found Family, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Interdimensional Travel, Interdimensional shenanigans, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbitium/pseuds/orbitium
Summary: "The curious part of your story," Dumbledore continued, "is that I have never once heard of a potion called Felix Felicis. I have not only never heard of it, I have never heard of anything like it, and I know of no constructive principle by which it could possibly exist."----Strange things are happening, even by wizarding standards. Deep magic is pouring in from another world.  It starts in a country village you've never heard of, and ends when a few familiar faces show up at just the right moment, toward the very end.  A family does its best in the meantime.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17





	1. Portents & Holidays

Strangely, the bees seemed to know something was happening before anyone else did. Early that morning, Aunt Tillie had gone to check on the hens when she noticed the furry, fizzing tree branch overhanging the lake. Up close, it was crawling with unsettled bees who had swarmed out of their wooden hive. She fetched her equipment and began to poke around, determined to figure out what the matter was.

Meanwhile, back in the house, Oliver had gotten up early and, seeing nobody else around, had begun to fry up breakfast. He set out a dish on the porch for the cat and was rather surprised when she didn't immediately present herself. He told Ormerod as much when Ormerod eventually stumped into the kitchen and propped himself up at the table. Ormerod mumbled irritably that wild cats go wherever they like and not to worry about it. Oliver responded by calling him _Roddy_ , so Ormerod threw a spoon at him which missed extravagantly.

Already the day was bound to be strange because it was the day Sofi would finally be returning from school for the summer. After breakfast of fried eggs and tomatoes, the three of them—Aunt Tillie, Oliver, and Ormerod—piled into the old car for the long drive into town and to the train station. Aunt Tillie, who still hadn't found out what had happened to the bees even after ringing around for advice, was almost distracted enough to finally let Oliver drive when he insisted he was old enough to be allowed to. Ormerod, who preferred being chauferred anyways, was content to judge the resulting row from afar, leaning against the window and watching the landscape roll by. In the distance, heavy clouds were rolling in from the mountains and over the craggy hills, and the morning light had a subdued, green feel about it.

Sofi met them at the train station, beaming infectiously and dragging her enormous suitcase. Ormerod thought she _looked_ the same as she had when she left nearly a year ago, her many beaded braids still flouncing as she ran, but she _showed_ herself entirely differently. You could tell somehow that she had been away and seen things. She filled them in about some of the things on the ride back—obviously there had been occasional phone calls and letters, but hearing them in person was altogether more interesting.

"Headmistress de Witt really is a _complete_ fanatic," Sofi gushed. (Aunt Tillie frowned slightly at this.) "Every Friday, she gives long speeches about the school's _pastoral duty toward the next generation_ and she insists that everyone _demonstrate proficiency in swimming across the lake_ because it demands _absolute unity of mind, body, and spirit_. Oh, and she _always_ wears trouser suits but I don't think I've ever seen her wear the same one twice."

"Oh, oh, tell us again about the ghost!" Oliver whooped. "You swear it happened?"

"Yes, absolutely! So one of the other girls in Lycan House was sneaking out every few nights to see her boyfriend. We covered for her, of course. Anyways, one night she comes back absolutely shaken to pieces because her boyfriend turned out to be a _ghost_ , poor thing!" Oliver laughed hugely. "And she broke it off right then! I don't see what the problem was, myself, honestly. He sounded sweet."

By the time they crunched back up the driveway that afternoon, the clouds had fully amassed over the house, turning the summer sky into a dazzling kaleidoscope of light and shadow. They brought in Sofi's things and the shopping they had picked up in town, then Aunt Tillie let them go free. To Ormerod's relief, they got a reprieve from varnishing the porch that afternoon on account of the unexpected weather. Oliver bounded off, presumably to look for trouble and/or the cat. Sofi waited until Aunt Tillie was busy with the telephone before wheeling on Ormerod. "We're still on, aren't we?" she hissed. Ormerod nodded determinedly.

"It's been driving me crazy just _thinking_ about it." she added emphatically. "We have to find out who your parents are—this summer. It's just this great big mystery and _I have to know_. I don't care what Aunt Tillie says."

It was in this way that Sofi and Ormerod found themselves trekking and tromping through the tall grasses toward the edge of the woods where they believed Ormerod had first emerged some years ago. They had a base of operations there, of a sort. By implicit agreement, they had, over time, explored many of the nearby fields but never too far into the woods proper—certain things went beyond mere bravado. The base itself was marked by a lonely, agreeably mysterious pile of white stones, stacked in a loose pyramid half as tall as Ormerod himself. The stone pile squatted incongruous and ancient at the edge of the woods like an abandoned fort. It had probably sat there undisturbed for thousands of years.

Well, relatively undisturbed. Last summer, they had pried one of the stones loose, creating a cache where they could store various pieces of evidence relating to Ormerod's family. Based on Ormerod's dreams and admittedly fragmented memories, Sofi had pieced together that Ormerod was secretly a wealthy prince whose parents had sent him away for his safety during a war with a neighboring kindgom. Something had gone wrong—or perhaps they had magicked Ormerod's memory as an extra precaution—and now he needed to find his way back home, or prove himself worthy of the throne, or something similar in order to put things right. Having put together the history, the two of them had moved to assembling clues about Ormerod's lineage and where his kingdom was.

Opening the cache required the permission of the goddess who, as Sofi had explained, lived in the pile of stones and watched over it. In the usual way, Sofi produced a napkin wrapped around leftover sandwich crusts and laid it reverently on the pile of stones. "O great goddess Din, we have returned to humbly seek your divine succor!" She stepped backwards and began to make flinging gestures toward the pile of stones. Ormerod, somewhat less enthusiastically, made flinging gestures as well. The wind picked up and began whooshing through the boughs of the trees and across their arms and shimmering across the field. "Great goddess Din!" intoned Sofi, encouraged by the response, "we thank you for permitting us to, er, vouchsafe our treasures here and for guiding us on our noble quest. We ever remain your humble followers. Please accept our humble sacrifice of bread. Simply give us a sign if we are worthy." The wind gusted and flailed. Sofi nodded solemnly, at which point Ormerod pried the stone out of the pile, revealing a plastic bag containing their treasures.

It was a smaller collection than they would have wished for, but they were proud of what they had. Among some of the more exciting odds and ends were a weather-worn lantern they had salvaged from nearby, a glass vial full of what looked superficially like slug slime but had the potential to be much more, and a genuine old-fashioned piece of thick parchment with a warning intended to put them off the search. "Dear Sir," it read (Imagine someone referring to Ormerod as "Sir!") "I assure you that my work is proceeding quite well. I am grateful for your well-intended offers of assistance, but I must insist they are not necessary." There was no signature. The scrap of parchment positively thrummed with possibilities, and made the prospect of a royal plot all the more tangible. Faced with these quest items, Ormerod felt a renewed thrill of excitement. The two of them proceeded to talk and act out various scenarios, determined to shed new light on the mystery. They were so deeply involved in the game that they completely failed to notice how dark the storm clouds had become. More importantly, they very nearly failed to notice the man who was silently watching them from the woods.

Ormerod saw him first. He gave a great spasming intake of breath and scrambled backwards, clawing at Sofi to make her see. Sofi took one look at the man-shaped thing, grabbed at Ormerod, and the two of them were fleeing back toward the house, feeling evil pounding behind them, knowing how dreadfully far—too far—it was to run. As his lungs burned and his heart throbbed in his throat, all Ormerod could think about was the thing's awful stare. Even at a glance, and even at such an unlikely distance, he had seen its eyes were a shocking golden color.


	2. Cakes & Tea

They burst gratefully through the front door of Aunt Tillie's house, heaving and collapsing messily onto the floor. "Oh M-Merlin," Ormerod swore. "What was that?"

"Roddy?" Aunt Tillie called inquisitively from the other room. "Sofi?" Sofi and Ormerod simultaneously realized she was using her hostess voice and heaved themselves up. "Come and join us in the sitting room, won't you?" Ormerod looked in horror at the state of his ordinarily neat self. Both of them were far too overheated and basically filthy to join anyone in polite society.

Aunt Tillie was holding court in the cramped sitting room, where every surface was either covered in floral print or bedecked with an imminently fragile keepsake. Oliver, looking extremely out of place, was folded grasshopper-like into the furthest chair, his dark hair wetly plastered to his scalp in a passing gesture toward propriety, though few slick tufts stood valiantly in opposition. A tray of moist fruitcake slices sat on the ottoman in the center of the room, and Oliver looked as if he were working up the courage to grab one. Across from Aunt Tillie sat their neighbor, a spectacled man whose name Ormerod had forgotten.

"Masami, allow me to introduce my goddaughter, Sofi." said Aunt Tillie in her sparkling hostess voice. "Sofi has just returned to us on summer holiday. Sofi, this young lad is a scholar who's staying in the cottage next door. And of course you remember our Ormerod."

"Yes," said Masami in his precise, mild way. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Ormerod, and a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sofi. These past few weeks in the cottage have been very pleasant. Your aunt is a kindhearted landlady."

"A pleasure!" Sofi parrotted, with a perfunctory sort of curtsey. "Aunt Tillie, Ormerod and I just saw, er, someone coming up from the woods and we thought we should let you know _right away_." She leaned on the words _right away_.

Oliver perked up. "What—who?"

"Oh!" said Aunt Tillie, fumbling a bit for a reply. "Well, iron by the threshold, right?" she smiled.

"Ah, yes" said Masami. "A fascinating tradition. Mine is hanging by the front door."

"Ours, too." said Aunt Tillie. She was looking at Masami, but was really talking to everyone else. "Yes, we turn away evil with one hand, and offer hospitality with the other, and so the whole world goes round. We do our part and we _never_ fear that strangers may come by. Now please, you two, sit down and join us, won't you?"

It was agony to just sit there having just raced for their lives, but it seemed like there was nothing else they could do. Oliver kept trying to get their attention, but there was only so much they could communicate by surreptitious eyebrow waggling and mouthing before Aunt Tillie noticed. Sofi, distracted, barely managed to field Masami's wistful questions about school life, and she missed most his story about how he went from being a farmer's son (a surprise, to judge from his carefully-pressed white shirt) to being a poor but hopeful academic.

It was almost, but not quite, a relief when they were interrupted by a heavy knock at the door, and Sofi, Oliver, and Ormerod traded equal looks of panic as Aunt Tillie rose to answer it.

"'Scuse me for intruding, ma'am" said a voice at the door. "The weather caught me by surprise when I was out rambling. I was wondering if—"

"Oh, come in of course," said Aunt Tillie busily. "This storm blew in out of nowhere! In, in! We were just having tea in the sitting room over that way. You may call me Aunt Tillie, by the way. Everybody does."

There was a creaking thumping sound as the visitor moved heavily through the old house. When he entered the sitting room, a number of things happened at once. First, Ormerod and Sofi recognized the man's golden eyes glinting beneath his dark brow, and they froze with dread. Second, the visitor saw them and, judging from the tense expression on his boyish face, was surprised to recognize them as well. Third, Oliver grinned hugely and yelped " _Lyra!_ ", which was a great mystery until Ormerod noticed the tawny shape winding its way affectionately and hinderingly between the man's legs. One of the man's legs was wooden, he noted abstractly. And the cat, who liked most people very little and some people very much, seemed to like him.

The visitor seemed to like her, too. He dropped his gaze from Sofi and Ormerod and ducked his head toward her. "Oh, it's Lyra, now, is it?", he cooed, scratching behind her ear. She meowed noncomittally. "A finely-chosen name, I think," he said to Oliver, though he kept looking at the cat. "I call 'er Scar myself, on account of the battle trophies she's taken from me." Ormerod took a second look at his tanned skin, which showed various scars and abrasions. He wondered nervously whether all of these had come from a single cat, and if she had taken his leg as well.

"Oh, shoo!" commanded Aunt Tillie as she entered, navigating around the man with an extra teacup in hand. "Not in the sitting room, Lyra." Insulted, the cat took a farewell tour before sauntering off somewhere more pleasant. While Aunt Tillie briskly introduced everyone, the visitor stood rooted to the spot. "You can just sit anywhere," she told him.

Ormerod realized, with a rising sense of hilarity, that the visitor was somewhat like a wild cat himself: he didn't seem to know how to move in close quarters, and several gleaming knick-knacks almost met their doom as he lowered himself toward a chair.

True to form, Aunt Tillie took this in stride. "It seemed like such a fine morning today, didn't it, er,—"

"Gideon, ma'am." supplied the visitor. "Gideon Wainwright. Er, yes. Liked watching the sunrise. Good walking weather, too." Now that Ormerod had time to look at him, the visitor—Gideon—looked a lot younger than he first seemed.

"And a lovely morning to catch fish," commented Masami.

Gideon nodded appreciatively. "Yeah. Too bad, really. Spent most of the day working in the woods."

"How unexpected!" exclaimed Aunt Tillie. "What brought you there?"

"Well, o'course you'll know some of the forest nomads have been moving through Brockburn lately." He hunched forward enthusiastically. "I've spent some weeks trying to track some of them down, see if they know anything about some funny business that's been going on." Aunt Tillie set down her cup into its saucer. "It's what I do, really," he explained. "Travel to new places, try to help where I can. Keeps me out of trouble that I'd get up to otherwise!"

"Sounds like a noble way of life." said Masami. His eyes were bright behind his stiff glasses. Oliver nodded in rapturous agreement.

"I hope something will come of it." shrugged Gideon modestly. "They've agreed to meet me out beyond the cairn tonight." At mention of the stone pile, his eyes dragged repentantly over to Sofi and Ormerod. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but before he could, Aunt Tillie stood up.

"Of course, you've both got to stay with us for as long as you need to, at least until this storm blows over." she declared. And indeed, as they had been talking, the rain had begun sheeting down in great humid gusts, rattling across the dark roof. "If you'll chat among yourselves for a moment, I'll see to these three and check how supper is coming along."

"Aunt Tillie, but can't I—" objected Oliver as Sofi and Ormerod got up to join her. "Oliver, dear, I know it's summer," she replied not unkindly. "But we've got to keep our routine, haven't we?" He sighed heavily and slumped over to her.

"I'm an able hand in the kitchen when you're ready for it," Gideon offered.

"Ooh, I'll be back now in a minute to take you up on that." Aunt Tillie laughed.

They filed into the study, where a big window on one wall cast watery light on the books and piles of paper that mounded on almost every surface. Ormerod was always impressed by the other esoterica peeking from the paper sea, like the black-glassed terrarium encased in blocky beige cube and gathering dust in a corner. Sofi, too, considered the study to be one of the best rooms in the house, although not in this instance if she knew what was coming next.

"I haven't been fair to either of you boys," Aunt Tillie said, looking now quite serious. Internally, Sofi groaned. "I know that you've been through a lot, and I haven't wanted to push you too hard. But you've got to be able to make it on your own, and you've got to have an education to do that." She extracted a book from a particular pile. _The Eager Pupil's Companion to Geometric Proofs and Constructions_ droned the cover. "It'll be maths today. Sofi, I expect you to do your duty to help them."

"Aw, come off it, Aunt Tillie!" protested Oliver. "I don't need maths. I'll just make my living as an explorer, like Gideon!"

"And I shall assume my rightful place on the throne and not need to work another day in my life." added Ormerod reassuringly.

"They're both extraordinarily hopeless at it," tried Sofi. "They find new ways to be hopeless at it. I'd know."

Against a chorusing trio of protests, Aunt Tillie made a sharp hushing sound. "Enough with this blinking _nonsense_ , now _listen to me._ I don't ask for much. Just keep it up until suppertime. You'll be surprised at how far you can get with just a little bit at a time." She thumped the book on the table and walked out. And with surprising finality, that was that.

Sofi complained about being put upon, but they all felt a little bit guilty about Aunt Tillie and so they did all make an effort. Sofi was, obviously, good in maths as with everything else except history, and Oliver was good at reading excerpts in the author's dull voice to humorous effect, which was at least as useful. They kept it up for quite some time, as the rain continued relentlessly and occasional sounds of laughter and conversation drifted in from across the house.

More than an hour later, they were sprawled across the floor or various chairs, laughing at the latest ridiculous thing they were supposed to be doing with triangles when they realized they were no longer alone in the room. Aunt Tillie stood silently among them, clutching a tray with a tea set. Some instinct gave Ormerod a heart-pounding sense of alarm. Perhaps it was shock from the silent way she had entered, or the fact that she was just standing there, unspeaking, or the way her eyes seemed too shiny and dark. She was staring wretchedly into space, as if she hadn't noticed them at all. Outside, the storm raged.

"Oh, bother it all!" huffed Sofi irritably, breaking the tense silence as she stood. "I can't deal with this rubbish again, too, not on my first day home." Without glancing in Aunt Tillie's direction, she flounced out of the study and Ormerod, mystified, heard her stump up the stairs to her room and slam the door.

Silence fell. "Aunt … Tillie?" Oliver ventured, trepidatiously. His face was grave with recognition. She swayed unsteadily as if he had roused her, but made no other motion.

Ormerod turned toward Oliver. "What's happened to her?" he whispered tremblingly. He hated how frightened he sounded. He wasn't sure why he was whispering with Aunt Tillie right there, but everything about the moment felt fragile and extraordinarily dangerous.

"I've done my best to look after you" Aunt Tillie slurred. Her voice came as if from a deep well, low and mournful. Haltingly, she set the tea set on one of the available tables, slumping into a chair. "You're all such blessedly wonderful children. I don't know if I've done enough to tell you so, or to make you feel welcome here. Everyone deserves to have a home. A place where they feel safe and loved and whole."

"This _is_ our home," enunciated Oliver, moving cautiously closer to Aunt Tillie. Dragging his chair a prudent distance away, he sat down next to her. She stared up and through him, her eyes like glass. Ormerod simply watched in horror.

"I don't know what will happen next," Aunt Tillie whispered wretchedly. "I want to see you bloom in the world. These past few years, I've shown you what I know about how to look after things. I just don't know if it'll be enough." She fell silent for a moment. "I just couldn't risk sending you to school like Sofi."

"I know, Aunt Tillie. We talked about it." said Oliver levelly.

Aunt Tillie nodded uncertainly, reaching for the teapot. "Sofi is so brilliant and full of life. Not a day goes by that I don't wish her mother were still here." Oliver delicately took the teapot into his own hands and began to pour. She turned with sudden fierceness toward him.

"What's going to happen to us?" she pleaded. "What if you're not ready when the time comes? What happens when someone else comes around asking questions?" She gulped. "I've never asked questions; I just want you to have a home. What if they decide to take you away from me? What if you decide to leave me?" In a most ugly and undignified way, she had begun to cry.

"We would never _do_ that!" Oliver protested. "I promise. Everything will turn out just fine, see? We're loads more capable than you think, even if we give you the runaround sometimes."

A flicker of the old Aunt Tillie flashed across her face, and she grinned wetly. "You really are an angel, dear." she sniffed.

Oliver picked up a teacup encouragingly. "And look at all this; you _do_ look after us just fine." He took a sip and immediately grimaced—it had evidently gone cold ages ago.

"Oh, not again," Aunt Tillie said. The moment had passed, her face suddenly dreamy and mask-like again as she reached out at him. "I must have made it a while ago and forgot. Here, give me your cup, dear—"

Oliver handed it to her without thinking, before realizing what she was going to do. When he did, an instant later, his face twisted in pure dread. Ormerod, watching at a distance, was shocked at the physical force of his expression. "NO, AUNT TILLIE, DON'T!" Oliver bellowed helplessly, trying to reach for the small bright cup as she cradled it. As he shouted, there was a thumping of footsteps from the other side of the house. "NO! NO! PLEASE, DON'T!! PLEASE!"

Ormerod thought the light in the room went strangely skewed for a second; the shadows seemed thorny and wrong. Then there was a sucking, whooshing sound and a cloud of steam curled from the teacup, which speckled with condensation. Shaking with emotion, Oliver yanked the teacup back and shoved it away, burning his fingers in the process. He grasped Aunt Tillie's pale hands in his hands. "Your hands are _ice cold_!" he hollered accusingly at her. "How can you keep hurting yourself like this? It's _not fair_."

Gideon Wainright burst into the room, his bright gold eyes flashing across the three of them. When he saw the harrowed, private looks on their faces, some of his initial bravado leached away, though he did not leave.

A moment passed. "Ma'am, it seems like you might be feeling poorly" he offered gently. Aunt Tillie, slumped in her chair, muttered something imperceptible. "If y'like, it'd be a pleasure to escort you to someplace more comfortable." She offered her hand wordlessly, which he took, hissing softly in surprise at her touch. Through a steady stream of coaxing encouragment, Gideon contrived to half-lead, half-carry her out of the room. Oliver, with a crumpled expression, stormed out as well, and Ormerod heard the door to his room slam shut shortly thereafter. As it was Ormerod's room as well, he found himself suddenly in a terribly empty study with no place to go.

At least Sofi invited him in when he knocked. Besides the suitcase thrown open on the floor, her room looked the same as ever. She was, to all appearances, lying on her bed with a book in hand, staring determinedly at it.

"I've got no idea what all that was about," Ormerod said steadily.

"I _hate_ her." she fumed, glaring at the book. "I honestly do. Everything has to be all about her and how much she does for everyone without asking for anything in return. How _dare_ she cause a scene like that? When she's supposed to be looking after us? How childish, I mean really. Don't we matter at all to her, or are we just charity props?" She raised herself up and flung herself emphatically flat on the bed.

"I've never seen her like that," he said. "It wasn't normal."

Sofi smirked. "Shows what _you_ know. She used to get like that from time to time, before you showed up."

Ormerod considered this. "You know, I think today she was frightened because of Gideon."

"Oh, well he _might_ be dangerous after all, but I don't think so really," she replied impatiently.

"Maybe not. But what she said in the study…I think she's frightened that he'll try to put everything right around here, even when it isn't wrong in the first place."

There was a creak as the door cracked open slightly. Lyra slunk into the room and, making it clear this was an afterthought, leapt onto the bed and curled against Sofi. A chorus of clunks and creaks sounded in the stairwell, followed by a heavy knock on the doorframe.

"We're, er, helping out in the kitchen," said a voice out in the landing. Sofi thought she could practically hear the way Gideon was staring resolutely away at the ceiling as he spoke. "Per your aunt's request, as she's having a lie down. Only we may need help with a few things, if you're willing." There was a brief unfinished silence, then further clunks and creaks as he left.

Sofi hesitated, avoiding Ormerod's eyes. " _Fiiine_ ", she sighed at last. Sofi slid bonelessly off of the bed and marched toward the stairwell. "They won't be able to manage without me."

"What if Aunt Tillie's moved everything around while you were gone?" Ormerod asked, following her downstairs.


	3. Horizons & Vows

They arrived to find that Gideon and Masami had rallied in the kitchen, chatting comfortably while delicious roasting smells wafted throughout the house. Aunt Tillie's bright orange casserole dish simmered self-sufficiently on the stove. There was no sign of Aunt Tillie herself, which Sofi thought was just as well. Even Oliver emerged from his room eventually; he slid into a chair with eager attention almost exactly as if nothing bad had happened. And in no time at all, the five of them were eating dinner together. It was strangely normal, Sofi thought as she fished dumplings out of her bowl of stew. It was as if they did so every week. She listened as Masami told a family story about his great-great-great grandmother who had met a white tiger many years ago and how the tiger had become their family crest. Gideon followed up with a story about the fiercest cat _he_ had ever met—which turned out to be Lyra. This story, he assured them, had been forever canonized in song which he would play the next time he brought his guitar.

After dinner, Oliver quietly excused himself to Aunt Tillie's room, returning shortly thereafter and mouthing _she's asleep_ to Sofi, who rolled her eyes. Masami and Gideon, as if through mutual agreement, were preparing to depart. At this point the awkwardness that had more or less receded into the background re-emerged. Sofi suspected that Masami did not want to leave them alone, but also did not want to impose as a guest any further. On the other hand, Gideon probably would have stayed if he hadn't already agreed to a meeting in the forest. She wondered if he would ever come back.

In the end, Oliver was the one who asked Gideon if they could all come along to the forest. Then everyone realized that this was secretly what they had been hoping for all along, even if they didn't notice at first. Masami immediately pointed out how interesting it would be to participate. Oliver thought it'd be a great adventure. Of course, Ormerod wanted to find his kingdom on the other side of the woods, and Sofi wanted to do something daring and outrageous.

And so they went. It was like a dream, almost. They all sensed that Aunt Tillie might not be pleased in any case, though Masami stuck a note to the refrigerator before they left. On the other hand, each of them had felt an increasing sense of something new coming together that afternoon, and that this adventure was somehow a part of it. Gideon crammed his floppy wide-brimmed hat onto his head and they all filed out of the front gate and crunched through the wet grass. It was still light and rather warm out despite the hour. The setting sun blazed gold through the clouds as it dipped toward the treetops. In time they reached the pile of white stones, and then—thrillingly—continued down the path toward the forest proper. At this point, Ormerod broke ranks, dashing toward the stone pile to retrieve a rather sodden plastic bag.

"It was behind the same stone like always!" he told Sofi, marvelling. "Even though I dropped it when I ran." Thoughts of divine intervention were quashed by Gideon's extremely embarrassed expression and inaudible, though admittedly telling, explanation.

The forest enclosed them completely. The pale luminous sky, which had lit their way so far, could not penetrate the dark canopy. Instead its melancholy blue flickered like a distant sea beyond the leaves. Gideon, loping along with surprising gracefulness, followed a rough dirt path deeper into the darkening trees, pointing out branches to avoid and places to step carefully. Onward and onward they walked in the earthy gloom, among wet leaves and hilly outcroppings.

At last, they crossed a stream that bristled with fallen branches, disturbing a pair of fishing swans in the process. When they climbed the opposite bank, they found a sort of natural clearing where trees were further apart and the falling sun shot golden light between them. There was a cabin crouched in the midst of the clearing. It had the hollow dark look of a dead tree, and Oliver was surprised when Gideon darted inside of it, returning a moment later with a small wooden case.

"Surely no one lives there," Oliver asked.

"Well, I do, in fact." replied Gideon jocularly. "But only for a fortnight or so while I'm in the area. Makes a convenient meeting place. In any case, I bet we won't have to wait long."

And indeed, a figure was just then stepping out from the gold-bright ring of trees, enveloped in the glare of the setting sun. "Oh, hey dudes." she said, bounding forward. "Wow, lotta new people, huh?."

Masami blinked in surprise. "I've heard your voice before, back home."

The newcomer peered at him closely, then grinned. "Oh yeah, that's right. You're still trying to fix all that, huh? If you need my help, the deal is still on the table."

Masami averted his eyes.

"But _you're_ here 'cause you want information," she said to Gideon, who was watching them perplexedly. "That for me?" she continued.

"Yes ma'am," he said, handing over the wooden case.

She unlatched it and looked inside, rocking back and forth in her boots. She whistled through her teeth, eyeing Gideon seriously. "Hey, you did a really good job with these, you know that right?"

She paused reflectively. "Honestly? I think these are worth a little more than what I've got to tell you, so if you still want to return them to me, I'll owe you a little favor, how about that?"

He nodded, and she winked. "Perfect."

She latched the case shut crisply and slid it into a traveling bag. "So, here's the situation. As far as we've found out, we've got a neighboring universe that's failing."

A hush fell over the misty clearing. "Yeah." she agreed, meeting their gazes. "It's not great. We _think_ the material level is fine—physics and stuff is still working—but _destiny_ has started to collapse. Normally, you'd see the universe anchor onto a healthy neighbor, trade fatelines, and stabilize that way. This one has attached onto us, and it isn't getting better. It's just pulling a lot of our stuff further in."

Sofi raised her hand. "Like what?"

"Good question." She began counting off on her fingers. "Prophecies going strange was one of the first signs, and reversals of fortune. But the situation has been building up for _years_ now. The feel of a town changing overnight, accidents that don't make sense, relics appearing and distorting history, or stuff just disappearing—"

"I think my mum disappeared like that," Sofi proclaimed, alight with realization. Oliver opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. "No, I know, I _know_ it was awful and I'm supposed to be letting go of it and not wondering about it." She balled her fists against her sides. "I know she's gone. I just want to find out what happened."

The newcomer looked carefully at Sofi. "Hey listen, I can't promise you that's what happened," she said. "But it makes sense that you'd wonder that."

"What'll help?" asked Gideon. "If you're working on the problem, can I help undo some of the damage here? Find out what's wrong on the other side?"

"You've got to send me there," Sofi interjected. "If you know about other universes, you've got to have a way to look at them and probably to send things back and forth, right? How do you do it?"

"Well, let's think it through," said the newcomer to Sofi, rocking back and forth in her boots. "Going between universes isn't exactly _easy_ , but it's the easiest part. The hard part is getting to the right universe, and not one of the dozens tangled up with it. And besides that, a whole universe is kind of a big place to get lost in. Lonely, too."

"I don't care about that!" Sofi retorted.

"Yeah, that's fair. I don't make choices for anyone." she replied bluntly. "I can show you the way out myself if you'll trade for the favor. Just saying you'll only really have a chance of getting where you want if you've got an anchor, like some material from that universe. Better yet, from the right planet or whatever."

Sofi fumed as she considered this, then threw her head back and let out a hair-raisingly foul swear. She said nothing else, her frown mutinous and calculating.

The newcomer turned to Gideon, eyebrows raised. "I'll admit we're going to need some real fast work before our neighbor just overwrites the world around us all, and I'd appreciate the help. That said, my deal with equivalent exchange still stands. So while I respect your journey of atonement or whatever, if you're still set on helping for nothing, we're not going to work."

Gideon looked stricken.

"Look, Goldie," she continued exasperatedly. "You could always stay in the area, look for things to do yourself. You're an independent agent, right? Or there's a group of archivists up north, losing their collective minds over what's been happening. Or you could just make a deal here, whatever."

"I'll stay around, then, and see what else I can do," Gideon said resignedly.

"Anyone else?" she asked, glancing behind at the gathering mists and reddening sun. "I can only stick around a few more minutes, so if you need anything else from me, better make it quick."

The evening was rapidly cooling. "Very well," said Masami quietly. His arms were folded, his spectacled face upturned toward the dark canopy. "I would like to accept your offer for help."

"Cool. You remember the price."

With difficulty, Masami fumbled beneath his shirt collar and produced a necklace with a pendant hanging on it. For a passing moment, he held it aloft and watched it swivel back and forth. Oliver, who was standing closest, saw that a striped cat had been carved into it. It looked very old. Masami cupped it in his hands and offered it to the newcomer, who accepted it solemnly.

For a moment, she looked strange in the glancing light, the necklace gripped in her hand. But then the moment passed, and she stowed it in her bag, withdrawing a large pale shape, heavy and oblong like a speckled rugby ball. Masami stared at it in confusion. With her free hand, the newcomer reached toward her belt and flicked out a tiny gleaming knife pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

"Masami Mizuchi," she said, her voice becoming low and serious. "Your life's duty has been to the wishes and expectations of your family who have granted you life and hearth and warmth. You have borne these expectations with heartache. You wish to trade one legacy for another, and to live instead by a path freely chosen, by virtues freely adopted, by your own unshakeable honor. This is a path that is not without cost."

Masami's mouth was a firm hard line, his gaze steady, even as his quiet breaths became ragged and and his face trembled with emotion as she continued. "This is a wetling egg—the only one there is. I charge you with her safekeeping and rearing. If you will swear and uphold an oath to tend to her as your own daughter, to place her foremost in your heart not because she is of your flesh, or of use to you, but because you have chosen to welcome her in, then you will be worthy and good fortune will follow ever after. Now, offer your hand."

Masami stepped toward her, his palm turned up. Expertly, she nicked the knife across the pad of his thumb, arousing a single dark upwelling of blood.

"Do you so swear?" she asked.

Masami regarded the egg. "I give my word," he replied with singular conviction, his eyes bright. He dragged his thumb across the egg's pale leathery surface, leaving a dark smear against the speckled pattern, then took it reverently into his hands.

"I shall know you as Oathkeeper from now on. May you ever honor the blood of your vows." She held his gaze as she said so, then clapped her hands together. "Alright, it's done." Masami gazed at the egg, smiling.

Ormerod, who had been watching the proceedings with a slight frown, decided that his turn had come. In a great haughty rush, he said "I haven't got anything to pay with, and I don't intend to pay without bargaining first, but I'd like some information, particularly about kingdoms in the area."

"Kingdoms?" asked Gideon, perplexedly.

"Or castles, I don't know exactly!" he said, his cheeks flushing. "I want to send a message to a particular place, and no one will tell me what I want to know."

"Listen," said the newcomer, "I don't give stuff away, but as far as basic political facts are concerned—oh, sorry, what is _that_?" she exclaimed.

A silent tawny shape had crept stealthily into the clearing and begun sauntering just out of reach of everyone present. Oliver grinned at the sight as it began circling the newcomer's boots.

"Ah," said Gideon. "She's—er, well, I wouldn't say harmless, exactly—"

"Aw, she's wonderful!" replied the newcomer. "That's perfect, actually. _She_ can take you to the other universe if you want to go."

"Sorry, _what_?" asked Ormerod incredulously. Everyone stared in agreement.

"Some cats know the ways between universes. Or all cats—I'm actually not sure? It's hard to tell whether they just don't feel like going. But this cat definitely knows." The cat, Lyra, chirruped in response.

Sofi suddenly spoke up. "Oh, _jolly_ good then. The cat will take us. Let's go."

"Hey, what about my question?" asked Ormerod petulantly.

"Er," said Masami and Gideon simultaneously.

"Listen, dude," said the newcomer. "There's a lot of castles around if you want to visit, but as of like the eighteenth century, it's all just one kingdom."

"That's what they said at Sofi's school, too," groused Ormerod. "I _know_ that isn't right."

Sofi rolled her eyes impatiently. "Are you dull? Your kingdom is _probably_ in that other universe, along with answers about my mum. Now let's go! Oliver, are you coming or do you need to iron Tillie's socks or something first?"

The dazzling smile fell off Oliver's face. "Oh, no." he moaned.

"Ugh, really? This forest lady has just said that there are whole other _universes_ and that ours will fall apart unless one of them gets fixed, and you seriously want to stay behind?"

"I said—I told her I wouldn't leave." he said wretchedly. "You should've seen her _face_."

"Have you given up on adventures altogether then?" Sofi continued mercilessly. "Aren't you the one always asking her to give you a chance to prove yourself? To show you'll be alright on your own?"

Oliver blinked at this. "Yeah, but—"

"So we'll go, we'll figure it out along the way, and we'll show her when we get back."

Oliver, glancing awkwardly at the other people in the meadow, muttered quietly, "She's all the family I've got, Sofi."

"Well, thanks very much for _that_ ," she said dryly. "I suppose Ormerod and I are just wallpaper then. We're leaving. Go on, then, Lyra." And she began herding Lyra out of the meadow, with Ormerod following behind.

"No, I'll go. I want to." Oliver said, trotting after them.

At this point, Gideon turned to Masami. "You coming, too?"

"I have been waiting for this opportunity for a lifetime," he replied.

Gideon turned to the newcomer. "Ma'am, how do we know what to look for on the other side?"

Sofi wheeled around at them. " _Oh_ , no" she said, wagging her finger at Masami. "No, _you've_ just done some kind of blood magic and besides, you've got a child on the way. You're in no fit state to travel at all. And _you_ " "—wagging at Gideon. She paused. "Well, alright, you _do_ seem friendly enough, I admit. But I don't know what a 'journey of atonement' is, and Ormerod still isn't sure about you—"

"—that's not what I said!—" protested Ormerod, mortified.

"And really I am just not in the mood! Nor for you," she snapped at the newcomer.

And without even glancing at their stunned expressions, she marched away after Lyra with Oliver and Ormerod following behind. Before long, their footsteps were lost in the dark sea of leaves.


	4. Omens & Upsets

It was becoming well and truly dark now. Oliver had looked back at the clearing and saw the newcomer vanish into the last misty light of sunset. They had kept walking despite the difficulty, refusing to talk out of a combination of determination and worry that they'd lose their nerve otherwise. The world was lush, rustling blackness as they stumbled blindly over hills and roots after the cat.

" _Oh_ —wait," called one of them. Somewhere in the darkness, their footsteps stopped. There was a plasticky rustling sound, followed by a brief pause, then the grasses and trees flashed into existence as an eye-wateringly bright blue glow filled the area. Clouds of chilly mist clung to the ground, swirling in the light. "Yeah!" enthused Ormerod. "I can't believe I forgot the lantern."

"How'd you get it lit out here?" asked Oliver.

"Batteries," said Sofi distractedly. "It's got a switch."

With the lantern in hand, they were able to make their way much easier, though unfortunately the lantern's ghostly circle accentuated the utter blackness between the trees. Ormerod kept glancing at the bright treeline out of the corner of his eye, wondering what moved and crawled and stalked beyond it. Quickly, he tore his gaze away to look at Sofi, who was stopping every once in a while to shake her head, and Oliver who was excitedly shining with exertion, and Lyra, who was pattering gracefully and purposefully ahead of them, glancing back from time to time and dashing ahead to keep out of the light.

"Hey Oliver," he said curiously. "What was your life like? You know, before Aunt Tillie?"

Oliver thought about responding with a taunt, then reconsidered. "I moved around a lot," he said after a bit. Between the darkness and the walking, somehow it seemed easier to talk about such things. "No one wanted me around, most of the time. Can't really remember all of it—just, pictures, smells, random things. Can't say I'm too upset about that, either. Better to think about the future, yeah?"

"Yes," said Ormerod thoughtfully. "Sort of like me, I guess. I wish I did remember more about my life before. I wrote a bunch of it down at first, thanks to Sofi."

Sofi, trudging forward, didn't deign to reply.

"Sometimes—" said Oliver. "Sometimes I thought Aunt Tillie was the reason I couldn't remember things. I don't think so anymore, but I do think she's glad about it. Glad that it's not painful."

"Did you ever live in a castle?" Ormerod asked suddenly.

"No—well, I don't think so." he stopped. " _Argh._ Sometimes I can't tell if I'm remembering something real or something I've dreamt. Like, I _do_ remember something like that—doing a stint in a castle, having to scrub the floors, bowing to noble families, that kind of thing. But it all gets muddled together."

"Oh." Ormerod's pale face flushed. "Oliver. I've just been thinking about it, and, well, I've started to wonder if maybe—maybe we're from the same kingdom. I'm sorry I never asked you before," he added quickly. "It seemed like a personal question, and you know how Aunt Tillie gets about disturbing the peace."

Oliver chortled in disbelief. "The same kingdom? No, I somehow doubt it."

"Excuse me for asking," snapped Ormerod. "It was just an idea."

"Do you two see that?" mumbled Sofi. "Over the trees. Here, you might have to stand where I'm standing." She kneaded her temples idly as they shuffled closer.

"I don't see anything," announced Ormerod.

"Turn off the lantern then." she said. "Oh, for just a _moment_!" she added tiredly, seeing his expression. With the flick of a switch, Ormerod plunged them all into constricting, coiling blackness. Colorful greenish patterns swarmed in front of their eyes as they adjusted to seeing in the dark. Slowly, the stars overhead faded back into view, blotted out by dark tree trunks in a few places, and by an unfathomably distant, sensed-more-than-seen crowd of mountains. Nestled among these unseen behemoths, there was a constellation of faint pale lights.

"It's a city!" exclaimed Oliver in surprise.

"Or a castle!" added Ormerod. "Let's go that way."

Spotting a landmark gave Ormerod a renewed sense of purpose and stability. And indeed, when they had turned the light on and continued walking for a while, they began to feel that their winding path was taking them gradually uphill and circling around to that distant spot where the lights were glinting. Periodically, Ormerod flicked off the light to get their bearings, and each time the lights in the distance seemed at least potentially closer.

Eventually, the wild growth of the forest gave way to a wide, flattened dirt path which was tangled with rocks and roots. Lyra darted up the path, and the rest followed. "It's migratory patterns, isn't it?" Ormerod asked Sofi. She shook her head, as if brushing away an irritating fly. "Dunno." she said, her head bowed toward the path.

"That makes sense," said Oliver. "Hey, this road is starting to look familiar. We aren't walking in circles, are we?"

"I suppose you should ask Lyra." said Ormerod peevishly. "But it feels like it, doesn't it. Can't be, though, since we haven't been on any sort of path until just now." But a slim tendril of anxiety had begun to curl in the back of his brain. With such dark thoughts seeping around, onward and onward they walked. It was hard to tell how far they had gone. Now, whenever they stopped, it seemed as if the lights in the distance weren't getting any nearer.

They had gone on for quite a ways when Lyra suddenly stopped in the middle of the path and stared attentively ahead. A large tree loomed ahead of them, and the path wound around it.

"What is it, Lyra?" asked Oliver conversationally. He stroked her back, and was surprised by how heated she felt. Evidently, the journey had been a long one for her as well. Sympathetically, he crouched onto the cold dirt next to her and idly followed her gaze into the dark swaying boughs of the tree.

"Oh good," breathed Ormerod, collapsing against a tree and setting down the lantern and his plastic bag. "I'm beginning to think this was a mistake."

"You two will still help me find my mum, won't you?" asked Sofi worriedly.

"Obviously," replied Ormerod. "We all just need a moment to recuperate."

"It's just that I've lost her," she pressed.

"I know that," said Ormerod slowly, looking strangely at her. Something was wrong. He didn't have time to find out what, however, because at that very moment Oliver had just seen what Lyra had been staring at, and he gave a great yelp of surprise.

In apparent reaction to the sound, the thing poured and shimmered out of a secret place in the dark heights of the tree, amorphous and glimmering like an oil slick. It stared at them from one of the lower branches, and its eyes were owl's eyes, and fish eyes, and damselfly eyes, and empty sockets, and knots in the tree, and human eyes, and butterfly wings. It glittered in the lantern light. The creature split in two unequal parts, and flowed apart to different branches and continued staring and flowing and mutating as the three of them watched, aghast. Against all odds, the one on the lower branch opened a mouth—a deeper blackness against its roiling glistening form—and, haltingly, it spoke at them.

" _Sighting…_ " it wheezed. It had the head of a goat, of a mantis, of a shark. " _Sightless…passing…_ " Oliver blinked. The words tugged at his brain, evoking a faint incoherent static of sense-memory, color, and sound.

" _Thralls…enthralled…_ " Its skin was treebark, chainmail, foam. " _Thralls…enthralling…_ " A fizz of incomprehensible mental noise.

"Er, excuse me," called out Oliver. "I'm afraid I don't un—"

" _Powerless and…power-granting…_ " it continued, inexorably, retreating slightly up the tree as its twin fled into the highest boughs. " _O wood-fettered … o woeful … world-heart…_ " it finished, falling silent and roiling with shadows.

"It talks in your head, as well," whispered Ormerod, though he was still glancing anxiously at Sofi. "I think it's surprised that we're able to see it. And it had been—imprisoned somewhere? But the people imprisoning it were also in the prison? That part wasn't really clear."

Unfortunately, Lyra was watching the creature with sly interest, her tail twitching back and forth. Wary of the unknowable consequences of Lyra trying to pounce on the thing, Oliver reached out and held onto her. She nipped his hand in retaliation, none too gently, and stalked hastily up to the tree which she began to creep up.

"Lyra!" called Oliver, irritably rising to his feet.

The shadowy creature's maelstrom of eyes had begun manifesting toward the its lower parts, tracking Lyra's progress. " _Ælf-hander…in Lynden-town…_ " it said, then promptly poured off of its branch and vanished into the ground in a shimmering, writhing streak. Having peered irritably around for her lost quarry, Lyra leapt back down, disturbing a few sticks that had fallen there.

"I can't believe you!" said Oliver hotly.

"Oliver," said Ormerod quietly. "I think something's wrong with Sofi." There was a dreadful strain of fear in his voice. Oliver turned to see Sofi looking apprehensively at both of them. The moon had risen brightly above the trees, and her dark eyes shone glassy in the moonlight.

"I'm fine" she protested nervously. "Just—feeling a bit foggy. Let's keep going. Did that thing say anything about my mother?"

"Sofi," said Ormerod slowly. His voice trembled with panic. "Do you remember who we are?" Oliver's mouth dropped open.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. But her eyes flicked nervously between them.

"Sofi, this is really bad," said Ormerod. "We need to go back to Aunt Tillie's."

"Why there?" she asked cagily.

"I think something's happening to you. I think it happened to me, before too. But maybe if we can get out of here, it'll stop, or at least Aunt Tillie will know what to do. I'll take you."

She hesitated. "Both of you?"

"Yeah." said Oliver.

"No." countered Ormerod firmly. He looked at Oliver. "I don't know exactly if we'll get another try at this, and I'd really like to know what's on the other side. It needn't be me who goes. In fact, I've determined not to go." He sighed. "I don't really _need_ to be a prince to be happy. I just wanted to be good at something for once. But I've already got a halfway decent life here, I _suppose_ , so I'm taking Sofi back myself and you can go on ahead. Though, Oliver?"

"Yes?"

"If all this does turn out to be true, and my family—I mean my original family—really is on the other side, please—tell them I turned out alright, will you?"

"'Course" he said. Ormerod nodded and handed him the plastic sack. "I don't know if these will help, but I hope they will. Alright, Sofi, let's find our way back."

She ran her hand down her face. "Aren't I—don't people call me Lena?" She looked at them haggardly. "This is really frightening. I don't want to be here."

"I'll—I'll take you to Aunt Tillie's house. We can figure out what to do next."

"Fine, but I'll hold the lantern."


	5. Fire & Void

They stomped off, at which point Oliver sheepishly realized he was left mostly in the dark. Fortunately the trees were now sparse enough and the moon had risen high enough to cast a silvery glow all along the dirt road. Lyra had also run off somewhere, which was somewhat more alarming, but Oliver reasoned that he could always follow the main road and see where it led. He checked for Lyra one final time in the surrounding bushes and the large tree, but found nothing. It was at this point that the second creature, which up until then had been hiding in the boughs of the tree, dropped directly onto Oliver's head in a dark phantasmagorial swirl.

Instantly, the ground fell away from him with a whisper and, with his stomach turning over and his clothes thrashing against him, he saw the vast silvery canopy of trees stretched out far below. From the high vantage point—getting higher by the moment—he had a brief glimpse of twinkling multicolored threads filling the air in rows, all aligned like a loom in the same direction. Then he rose higher still, and a guillotine of electric blue light flashed past; he plunged up and up into a world that bloomed with ink, rippling and billowing darkly around him as stars swam into focus all around. He saw the diamond-white sun careening by in the distance, gusting with streamers of heat and light and noise. As the pull dragged him inexorably away, the sun receded to a pale flame and a distant roaring wind. The surroundings grew cooler and cooler, as when a camper leaves the safety and comfort of a blazing fire to walk among the dark and savage wilderness. There was nothing around but silence now, an icy blackness pinched with hard white stars and the faint candle of Earth's own sun. Experimentally, he extended his arm. It was so cavernously dim out there, he could barely see it, except for its silhouette against the crystalline stars. As he began to look around in all directions, he became dimly aware of movement quite nearby. Floating seemingly motionless in the yawning void, he felt a chill of dread. There was something in the darkness with him.

The first one was a towering dark shape almost within arm's reach. Twisting around, he began to perceive more and more of them, black outlines, flutters of movement. They hung in the void, insensitive to the harshness of space and poised with spider-like stillness. Each one was a gaunt towering shape, veiled in layers of shadow, and nearly six meters tall each. Where a human's face would be, they simply had empty hoods; without exception, each one's hood faced toward the distant sun. Oliver realized two things in very quick succession: first, the distant whisper of energy from the sun physically repelled the creatures; though they pressed around its light as close as possible, they could not overcome its tidal force. Second, he was not _really_ out there among them, but only a sort of projection. This explained why he was unperturbed by the lack of atmosphere, and more importantly why the creatures had not noticed him yet. He knew, with a primal sort of certainty, what would happen if they could feel the warm heart pushing blood and adrenaline throughout his body. His skin crawled. Somehow being merely a projection did not make him feel quite safe.

Slowly, too slowly, he drifted through their silent vigil, then beyond it. The stars began to bleed together as he began picking up greater speed. Sound seemed to be muted, as if he were underwater and the light seemed to be going funny somehow, too—everything was dim and blurred to ink-dark, except for strange watery streaks of light that swam by intermittently. In this queer beyond-place, Oliver could not tell if they were lanterns, or cities, or galaxies. He sailed through leagues and light years of strange sights, until finally the pull began to relent. He found himself heading toward a pair of twin suns, toward to a tiny speck caught in orbit beyond them. He thought the speck might have been a planet, but without any reference points, it was disorientingly difficult to guess. He arced toward it, figuring the point of this strange journey was to see what was there, and resolving to find out.

"STOP!" came an enormous shout and a burst of flame. The voice rang with harmonies and sparkled with embers, and though it rattled the inside of Oliver's head, its tone sounded more like an anxious whisper. Though Oliver was not sure how it happened, he did indeed seem to be slowing down. "Go no farther, or the devil who lives in this star system will surely see you."

"Who's there?" whispered Oliver, glancing around. His voice did not quite work in its normal way—he heard most of it resonating in his own skull—but it seemed to do the job.

"I am the goddess of fire and wisdom," replied the voice. "And a few other things besides. I have been watching this beast do its evil work with destiny. It has placed the whole of this universe under a curse."

"Can it see me now?" asked Oliver nervously. "Can you?"

"I have been watching from within the twin hearts of these stars. You were a little ember of courage in the dark, and you caught my eye. But I have a specialist sense; I trust its mind is directed elsewhere."

"I'm not really sure how I got here," Oliver began curiously. "And I don't think I'm really here. Something fell on my head."

"Hm." said the voice, dubiously. "Oh, I see what you mean. You're on some sort of sending. Shall I send you back?"

"Well, I think I'm supposed to be figuring out what's going on."

"A look-see errand," said the voice approvingly. "I am on a similar errand of my own, watching in secret."

"You said you're watching from the suns? _Both_ of them?"

There was a prim pause before the voice boomed out impressively: "I dwell nowhere long, but move as I will in all the flame and fire in this existence, my adoptive continuum: all seas of molten lava, all fulminating plasmas are in my government, as are all candles, hearths, brushfires, salamanders and all other beasts that spring from the stolen godspark." Oliver thought he might've seen the suns flickering in time with the voice, but it could've been his imagination.

"Oops, I think the devil has sniffed you out." said the voice in a rather different tone. "Goodbye for n—" There was a dark sulfurous bang, as if an iron lid had slammed shut over the sky, and a burst of embers. Oliver found himself quite suddenly crashing backwards over the roots of the enormous tree and landing on the hard earth. The fall knocked all the wind out of him, and for a moment he lay there crumpled and self-pitying, his heart still yammering with nerves. Eventually, though, the few sticks that had jabbed uncomfortably in his back became too much. He got up, shoved the errant sticks awkwardly into his pocket, brushed off the moist dirt, and took stock of his surroundings.

Ormerod's sack was fortunately still lying there in the moonlight. There was no sign of Lyra still, or the swirling creature, which appeared to have slunk off somewhere. And the lights from the distant city—or whatever it was—shone on cooly in the distance. Oliver gathered up the sack and began making his way again uphill toward the lights, puzzling over what had happened.


	6. Returns & Reveals

As he walked on, the trail broadened, becoming flatter and firmer, apparently hammered out by animal migrations and such. The way became easier then, and he traipsed across cold little streams and scrambled over hills. Eventually, he saw a place where the sky shone through the thinning trees up ahead and knew he was at the forest end.

Oliver emerged into a moonlit field. The wind folded through the grasses like a sea. Just ahead, imminently close, there was a dark edifice glittering with lights. It was a fortress. What's more, as the fortress came into view, something else slid into place in Oliver's mind. He knew this place. As he took in the sight, one memory after another squeezed itself from out of his subconscious.

A dreamily golden sort of blur accompanied that realization. It might've been shock. He realized that he had forgotten something quite important quite a long time ago, and took off running across the fields. He recognized the shape of them as his shoes pounded into the dirt. He was not sure if the people in the fortress had noticed him yet. He approached the threshold breathlessly and found it deserted, although he had seen fires twinkling in the uppermost windows. The vaulted wooden door was ajar, letting out a breath of strange earthen smells within. He stepped inside, pooled in darkness. No one shouted as the door creaked on its hinges; no one leapt out as he slunk furtively up a familiar flight of stony stairs and then another, each step unseen and treacherous in the dark. There was an eerie cavernous quiet all around. More memories squirted out of his subconscious, and he fought to piece them all together. By the time he arrived at the squat little statue on the third floor, he almost forgot what he had came for. But the memory leapt to mind like an old friend. He whispered a secret in the statue's ear and a door sprang open from the wall. Behind the door was a twisting staircase, laid with carpet rather than bare stone. The air beyond was pleasantly warm and smelled of spice. Oliver's knees shook slightly as he climbed to the top and knocked quickly on the door before his nerves gave out.

"Enter," said a tired voice. Inside, a tall silver-haired man stood stooped over a desk full of strange silvery instruments. He had the unfinished appearance of someone who had likewise just come in from the outdoors. The windows beyond caught a sky full of bright stars. "Good gracious," he said in surprise, when he saw who it was. "To what do I owe this very late pleasure?"

"Sir," rasped Oliver. His voice had caught in his throat as if he hadn't used it in years. He tried again. "Sir, something—happened." he said uselessly.

Something in Oliver's tone must have conveyed the magnitude of what he felt, because the man looked over at him, piercingly attentive. Oliver's clothes were muddly, and he clenched the handle of the plastic bag as if his life depended on it. He found he had run out of words to say.

"If I had to guess the purpose of your visit," said the man lightly, never breaking his gaze, "I would have at first suspected it had to do with the memory I had asked you to retrieve."

Oliver blinked in surprise, his mouth forming a small 'o' shape, and he began rummaging through the bag. "I think I did get it, after all," he said wonderingly, and he plunked a vial full of silvery slime onto the desk. The man looked stunned for a moment, then his face split into a wide smile and he swept it up at once. But the triumph seemed to fall curiously flat as he noticed Oliver's expression. "And yet," he said, pausing. "I suspect there is something more you would like to say."

Oliver nodded. And he told the entire story, as best as he could.

* * *

It took a while. The handsome clock on the wall attested to it, as did the bone-deep tired Oliver felt in telling it. The old man listened attentively, inscrutably, never saying much at all besides, "I see" and "Please continue" until Oliver finished with his trek up the stairs into the office.

The man was silent for a while. The instruments plinked and chimed around him. Finally, he murmured, as if to himself, "You will almost certainly need a new pair of trainers, then."

"Sir?" asked Oliver.

"Imagine, Harry—may I call you Harry?—"

"Er, yes," he replied, for that was the old name he had used before he had forgotten it.

"Consider a young man of your age, gallavanting for a period of years through the countryside in a solitary pair of trainers. It strains the imagination and the sense of pity alike."

"Sir, Aunt Tillie just bought me a new pair a few months ago?" Harry said, mystified.

"Ah, then that aspect of the situation, at least, is firmly in hand." he said with apparent relief. "I am afraid that the larger issue is your rather staggeringly sensational account of your whereabouts for the past eight hours. You have apparently been Confounded to a degree that suggests an imminent threat to your personal safety, and potentially implicates Professor Slughorn in—"

" _Professor!_ " said Harry hotly. "I have _not_ been Confounded. I—"

"Forgive me, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore gently. "I meant only to say that you had _apparently_ been Confounded. You must admit it is the most obvious explanation for your story. And yet I find, increasingly, that apperances are not always conclusive. Moreover, I have a few good reasons to believe your account—or at least, to question the obvious explanation."

Harry nodded, curiously.

"The first is this memory." Dumbledore held the vial up to the light, and it twinkled glutinously. "It is not at all fresh. It has settled and coagulated. I would suspect, in fact, that it was plucked from someone's head nearly two or three years ago." Dumbledore's voice, though still calm, was tinged with restrained energy.

"Oh no," said Harry suddenly.

"Not to worry." said Dumbledore. "Memories survive remarkably well outside the body. It is memories on the inside—memories that are dwelled upon, thumbed and embellished by the ever-moving soul—which are disfigured soonest. No, if this was ever Professor Slughorn's memory, it remains so today."

Harry nodded. "What's the second reason, then?"

"Second, Harry, as you recounted your story, I happened to notice that your scar was conspicuously absent." Harry felt a sudden chill crawl down his spine as he felt his forehead for the familiar slight ridge. It was smooth. "I say absent because I cannot find, by any means I know of, any way in which it has been concealed or transformed or made to deflect attention. Instead, there is simply no trace of it, magical or otherwise. It is as if it had never been there at all." Dumbledore's twinkling blue gaze locked onto Harry's. "The details of your story aside, this fact alone suggests much greater questions. It presents a mere piece of a larger, _total_ unknown. I must confess myself rather curious."

Harry shivered. "And the third reason?"

"The third reason, Harry," said Dumbledore, "Is that while I pride myself on having attained some familiarity with the sixth-year magic curriculum that is taught in my school, I have never once heard of a potion called Felix Felicis. I have not only never heard of it, I have never heard of anything like it, and I know of no constructive principle by which it could possibly exist."

* * *

In the silence that followed, Dumbledore retrieved the stone basin and placed it on his desk. Harry realized that, given everything else that had occurred that night, watching the long-awaited memory might've been the most straightforward step to take next. Dumbledore shook the vial of glutinous silvery stuff into the basin, gestured to Harry, and they both peered into it to look—

It was indeed Slughorn's memory, and it was perfectly intact. When they once again surfaced, Dumbledore, exuberant, explained at length how the memory confirmed what he had long suspected about Voldemort. Harry, probing his newfound recollections of his wizarding life, attempted to understand. "So," he said, "the diary’s gone, the ring’s gone. The cup, the locket and the snake are still intact and you think there might be a Horcrux that was once Ravenclaw’s or Gryffindor’s?"

"An admirably succinct and accurate summary, yes," said Dumbledore, bowing his head.

"So…are you still looking for them, sir? Is that where you’ve been going when you’ve been leaving the school?"

"Correct," said Dumbledore. "I have been looking for a very long time. I think…perhaps…I may be close to finding another one. There are hopeful signs."

"And if you do," said Harry quickly, "can I come with you and help get rid of it?" Dumbledore looked at Harry very intently for a moment before saying, "Yes, I think so."

"I can?" said Harry, thoroughly taken aback. He had gotten rather used to living with Aunt Tillie.

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore, smiling slightly. "I think you have earned that right." He paused. "However, your strange travels have taken me by complete surprise. I cannot forsee, in the end, how this will change things. I would like to ask you a favor, Harry."

"Sir?" Harry said. "I mean, of course."

"I would be very grateful if you could show me the way to this house in Brockburn. I should, if at all convenient, like to depart immediately."

"You want me to go back there with you?" Harry asked incredulously. "What for? Professor, it–it's just a house, really. I know it's in another universe or whatever, but it doesn't look any different."

"What for?" Dumbledore echoed. "For time, Harry." and he raised his blackened, burned-looking hand. "You spent years there, and yet by your own account were there and back in a single night. What's more, for sanctuary as well. As you describe it, it is a place that is apparently so perfectly hidden, it is hidden even from the minds of those who journey from here to there." He stood thoughtfully and began pacing slowly. "And finally for magic." he added quietly. Harry nodded uncertainly. Dumbledore suddenly looked at him intently, and clapped his hands together. "Ah! But of course I am overly hasty. Let us enjoy some victuals together and then think about what to do next. I'm sure you are quite famished after what you've endured tonight."

Professor Dumbledore conjured a plate of sandwiches and a pot of exceptionally strong tea. Harry chewed his sandwiches thoughtfully in silence as Dumbledore continued pacing around the room, his attention evidently elsewhere. Occasionally, he murmured something to himself. In the middle of this reverie, Dumbledore pulled out a scrap of parchment from his desk and dashed off a note in a sizzle of ink. He pulled off a thick silken drape that had previously covered an enormous square cage and pulled open its slender door. Fawkes stirred groggily. "Pardon the intrusion." Dumbledore said. "I would not ask if it weren't urgent." Fawkes preened carelessly, and a small red-gold feather fell toward the bottom of the cage. Dumbledore plucked the feather out of the air with gratitude and folded it into the note, which disappeared in a flash of fire. "In case we take longer than expected," he explained. As Dumbledore slid the drape back over the cage, Harry thought he saw the bird's expression change. Something human took over its sharp eyes as it glanced around the room for a moment and settled knowingly on him. But in the next instant, Fawkes had slumped back into a groggy avian stupor and the drape concealed him completely. The effect was very much as if a person had peeked in a doorway in passing, took a look around, and continued on their way.

They did eventually end up walking right back out of the castle and into the woods together, despite the lateness of the hour.

"Wands at the ready, I think." said Professor Dumbledore, glacing around the trees. "Despite what you may have heard, the Forbidden Forest is not merely off-limits as an inducement to the adventurous." Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket as Dumbledore lapsed once more into silent contemplation. Overhead, the dark sky shone with stars, and the moon sent silvery light filtering through the clouds and branches and over everything.

"I have always found it curious" Dumbledore said conversationally as they walked side by side deeper into the trees. "How the character of magic changes over time."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked.

"There are wonderments in our world, Harry. Having joined the wizarding world, you have encountered a number of them already—the Mirror of Erised, for example. The Goblet of Fire. The Veil. These are masterworks. In my view, each one expresses, somehow, the soul of what magic is." He paused. "They are also quite profoundly mysterious. Have you ever wondered how they were made? How you might make something similar today?"

"Not really," Harry said, thinking. "I suppose you'd have to look up the proper spells in a book or invent new ones…"

"An admirable starting point", Dumbledore inclined his head. "The fact is that however such especially potent artifacts were once made—whether they were all made by a similar method, or merely by similar levels of magical sophistication—we no longer know how they work. Not one person, not one book in any library I know of, has any understanding of their construction. We know approximately when they were made, and in many cases who made them, but the wild magic that forged them is unknown to us."

They paused to cross a narrow stream. Harry looked around anxiously. He had been looking for the path for quite a while, and it had dawned on him that he might seriously be unable to return to Aunt Tillie's house at all. The prospect daunted him.

"In my youth," Dumbledore continued unperturbed. "I wondered about this wild magic. With due respect to your Professors, Harry, I wondered why our schools taught exactly what to do and say to turn matchsticks into needles and no one seemed willing or able to teach how to make _new_ magic. And there were other oddities about our world, besides—I was determined to find their cause, at least for a time. In the end, I followed a rather—ill-advised—conjecture about our diminished capacity for magic, and was resoundingly put off after that. I found other pursuits to occupy my attention, but, if you will forgive the sentimentality of an old man, I never quite forgot. I have a _sense_ of something, tonight, Harry. I wonder if we will find some answers at last."

The trees had grown quite dense and dark. There was not quite enough moonlight to see the path anymore. Harry raised his wand. " _Lumos_ " he said. The tip of the wand illuminated, casting white light against the trees. At the same instant, a roiling shimmering swirl erupted from the end of his wand, surrounding the light in a large lacy bubble. Harry yelped in surprise and dropped the wand. As the wand lay there, still lit, on the ground, the swirl changed; it was a lantern, a lightbulb, a star, a torch, a lamp.

"What is it?" Dumbledore said, alarmed.

"I think that black thing was in my wand." Harry said, taken aback.

"Harry, I see only your wand—perhaps—". Moving swiftly, Dumbledore waved his wand, enunciating " _Lumos._ ". A second oily swirl erupted from Dumbledore's glowing wand. The swirl was a fire pit, a flashlight, a glowing fish.

"You've got one, too." Harry said.

"Most interesting. Then, if I may, _Nox_ "—the wand extinguished, and the swirl slurped back into the wand like a film of a cigar played in reverse.

"And now, _accio_ branch," Dumbledore said calmly. Harry watched as a glittering mass extruded out of the end of Dumbledore's wand. Its tendrils wrapped around a slender fallen branch and flung it toward Dumbledore, who waved it aside.

"The black thing grabbed it," Harry reported. Dumbledore's face shone with escalating excitement.

"And finally," Dumbledore folded his wand within his robes and stood with his healthy hand and his blackened hand both outstretched. "I wonder…"

After a moment, a thin stream of water spouted vertically out of the ground, cresting like a fountain, and sending spatters of water around. It sparkled playfully in the light of Harry's fallen wand. There was no sign of the black swirl. Harry didn't even think it was under the ground either; it felt like it wasn't there at all.

Harry said as much as he retrieved his glowing, black-scintillating wand from the ground. Dumbledore looked convinced of something. Harry was reminded of nothing less than the expression Dumbledore had worn just after Mr. Weasely was attacked, when Dumbledore had murmured something about _in essence divided_. Just as then, Dumbledore did not elaborate, and Harry did not ask. Harry wondered if those black things meant he could see magic somehow.

They continued walking. Harry decided the phantom-shrouded light from his wand was more useful than threatening, and if Dumbledore wasn't worried about the swirling thing, he wasn't either. And they did eventually find the path, though it was hard going and Dumbledore began to slow.

"Forgive me," Dumbledore said, leaning heavily against a tree. Harry looked at him in alarm. "I should have taken this precaution before we left. Alas, I find, once again, that I have not yet learned my lesson about fanciful expeditions." He spun his wand and, with a roil of black, a flask appeared out of thin air. He placed the tip of the wand against his temple and drew out a thin glimmering strand of silver. As he pulled, it lengthened and thickened until it was a braided shining cord, which he deposited into the flask, sealing it and handing it to Harry.

"Insurance," he said, seeing Harry's expression. "It contains several vivid but unremarkable memories of mine. If I begin to forget myself, or begin to believe I am a person from that world, please kindly tip those memories into my ear. I am reasonably confident that this will suffice, based on your description of your return journey and the fact that Professor Slughorn's memories endured unscathed."

"Sir, that's _brilliant_!" Harry exclaimed.


	7. Meetings & Mendings

They walked a long ways after that, and Harry found that finding the way back was not quite the same as the journey there. For one thing, the sky beyond the leaves kept changing as they walked. In some places, it would be the pale color of dawn, only to fade in others back to the black canopy of night. In some it was bright as noontime, and the forest awakened with life. It had the disorienting effect of making Harry lose track of the passage of time. Still, he had a sense of the road, and Dumbledore's company, so that was easy enough.

At one point, Dumbledore began to wheel around, peering at the trees, his expression glassy and confused. As promised, Harry coaxed him over and poured the luminous contents of the flask into his ear, at which point Dumbledore stood up straighter, his eyes twinkling, and nodded at Harry to continue walking. In time—it seemed to be mid-morning again, but it was hard to tell—they came to a gap in the trees which led to a broad clearing and a pile of pale stones. Harry could have shouted with joy. Dumbledore himself, surveying the grassy expanse, seemed reverent and peaceful as they walked the rest of the way toward Aunt Tillie's house.

It rose up, a pointy salt-and-pepper cottage with a broad overhanging roof, looking like it had wholly grown from the earth. There were intermittent pieces of lilting music coming from somewhere. Across the way, Harry spotted Masami in the garden beside his house. Masami and Gideon were lounging on the ground; they were both laughing at something that Harry couldn't see. Harry ran closer to investigate.

Gideon and Masami greeted Harry with cheers of welcome when he peeked into the garden, but their attention was inextricably drawn back to the toddler on the grass between them. It was a beautiful child, with stone-green eyes and shiny scaly skin. It burbled and cackled at the two of them. " _Saa kha ress ii_ ", it hissed. "Not so fast, " Masami said, somewhat giddily. "Let me try it again. Is it Sa-ka-res-i?" " _Saa kha ress ii_ ," it repeated.

"Well, Masami," said Gideon jovially. "I've only known this one for two days, and during that time she's only asked for one thing. What d'you want to bet she's asking for another one of those little mice?"

"I'm sure she is," said Masami gently. "But what a gift to receive a language from one's child. Although, perhaps," and he paused, smiling. "She has not only asked for mice. Perhaps she would like to hear…another song?" Gideon's guitar lay on the grass beside him.

Something bumped Harry's ankle as it brushed by. "Oh, good _girl_ , Lyra" said Gideon. Harry saw that Lyra had a small brown shape dangling from her mouth and decided to walk back to Dumbledore. As they went up to Aunt Tillie's house, Harry heard Gideon begin to sing in beautiful tenor:

> Few years had I unto my name  
>  And even less in height  
>  When I set out in search of fame  
>  And worthy foes to fight.
> 
> So keen and full of rage was I,  
>  (Though at the time so small)  
>  That I bombarded every beast,  
>  Joined every bar-room brawl.
> 
> I never lost a single bout,  
>  but always two or more  
>  I'd pick myself back up again  
>  To even up the score…

Harry was dithering on Aunt Tillie's porch, uncertain whether to knock on his own front door, when Sofi flung the door open. "I saw you coming down the way." she announced. "I'm _very_ glad you're alright and I would like to know everything. First of all," she looked at Dumbledore, who stared at her through his half-moon glasses, "Who are you, and why did Ormerod lock himself in his room when he saw you? Are you the vengeful ghost of his kingly father?"

Harry's old memories and new memories suddenly collided. _Oh, so Ormerod was Malfoy after all._ he thought. _How did_ he _get involved in all of this?_

"My name is Albus Dumbledore," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "And if I am not mistaken, you must be Sofi."

"Yes, that's right," she said. She looked at him with slight respect. "But oh my god, Ollie, _you won't believe who's here right now_." she whispered fiercely.

"Er, who?" said Harry.

" _Headmistress de Witt_ " she said dramatically. "From _school_. In the _summertime_. I always imagined headmasters were stored in broom closets when they weren't in use—" Dumbledore coughed slightly at this. "—but _nooo_ , apparently she and Aunt Tillie are _old friends_ and Aunt Tillie needed her help calming down the _bees_ or something so she picked her up from the train station this _morning_. In the _summertime_."

Behind Sofi, Aunt Tillie emerged from the back of the house. "Oh, _Oliver_!" she exhaled as she bustled over and enveloped him in an enormous hug. It lasted a long time, and she seemed to mean a lot of things by it. She sniffed slightly as she withdrew, but she was smiling. Harry felt as if she had decided to be brave.

"Come back by here, if you like." she said to them, leading through the house toward the back garden. Sofi made a reluctant face and peeled off toward the study instead. Looking at Dumbledore, Aunt Tillie smiled and said "Just call me Aunt Tillie. Everybody does."

The back of the house descended in terraces toward the broad glassy lake that caught the summer sky. There was a covered area under the porch where you could see most things and wave to people passing through the yard on a ramble through the countryside. Down by the lake, a tall figure dressed in astronaut-like clothing, presumably Headmistress de Witt, was tending to a collection of wooden hives. She shed her protective equipment as the visitors approached. Harry saw she had close-cropped silver hair and an unflaggably stern and sensible demeanor that loudly declared _headmistress_.

"My name is Deborah de Witt." she said in a prim gravelly voice, her hand extended." I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. And—my goodness." She stopped suddenly as she looked more closely at Dumbledore, whom Harry realized was wearing obviously un-Muggle robes. "Forgive me," she said faintly. "But your eyes—you're the spitting image of my eldest brother Bertie. He drowned when we were children."

Dumbledore had frozen, too, wordlessly rooted to the spot. He looked extraordinarily pale. When he spoke, however, it was with his usual airness. "Madam, it is a rare and strange blessing, and not altogether an unpleasant one, to be confronted with the likeness of a departed loved one. Let us not bother about the decorum of it. I am Albus Dumbledore, and I am most charmed to make your aquaintance." They spoke quite warmly with each other from that point on.

They had been conversing by the lake for a while when Aunt Tillie noticed Dumbledore's hand. "Oh, look at that," she hissed sympathetically. "You've hurt your hand, you have."

Dumbledore lifted his blackened burned hand, examining it neutrally. "It does not do to rush headlong in my particular duties."

"I thought you said you were a schoolteacher?" Aunt Tillie exclaimed with mild alarm.

"You wouldn't believe the sort of things," began de Witt darkly, but she too looked concerned.

"Well, let's have a look at it," prompted Aunt Tillie. "Oliver, dear, Deborah, please stand as far away as you can." She gripped Dumbledore's blackened arm gently in both hands and surveyed it expertly. A wind rippled across the lake and through the grass, and Harry felt the hairs lifting slowly off of his head and his arms. All of a sudden, the summer sun went strange and the shadows everywhere became thorny and twisted. There was a dazzling bolt of bright green light and a rushing roaring sound that rose and rose into a shriek until it filled the entire yard and echoed around the lake. It seemed like it would never end. Finally, the light returned to normal and there was silence. Dark purpley afterimages wove in front of Harry's eyes. Strangely, the air was filled with a powerful smell of growing things, sort of like freshly cut grass.

Dumbledore looked at his arm. It was not whole again, but where the skin had once been shriveled and burned-looking, it was instead mottled all over with dark bruising.

"You're a spry one," Aunt Tillie declared, shining slightly with exertion. "Your body will be able to do the rest of the healing on its own. It might take a few months, though."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. He was still looking at it, considering. "What kind of magic was that?"

"Just the workings of life." Aunt Tillie replied. "All magic needs something in return, doesn't it? You just have to know what you're giving up, and whether it's for the right reason. Here, the plants will grow back soon enough, and we'll put down some more clover to help it along."

As Harry re-approached, he saw that a meters-wide irregular swath of vegetation around Dumbledore had dried and shriveled up. The swath had conspicuously avoided Aunt Tillie's herb garden and instead spilled down toward the lake.

Headmistress de Witt arched an eyebrow as she approached. "Mathilde, that was well done. Are you quite sure you wouldn't enjoy teaching magic to children?"

"Oh, I could never work in a school," Aunt Tillie laughed. "Besides, I have to stay here at the Branwen house, at least until Sofi comes of age."

"Of course I don't mean in a school," de Witt replied primly. "The opportunities for learning are supposed to be everywhere in the world." She turned to Dumbledore for support. "You're an educator yourself; you must have noticed the problem. Too often people think that there is a secret to everything in life, and that those secrets can only be learned in a particular sequence, and that only proper teachers can disclose them. Knowledge becomes a pyramid of classified boxes!" and she punctuated her words with a definitive chopping gesture.

Everyone looked at her. "So I'd teach here then?" Aunt Tillie asked, looking thoughtful. 

"You certainly could." replied de Witt. "Or don't call it formal teaching; there are plenty of things that children could do and learn by being around here. If you've finished living in fear that one of your young wards will be snatched away,—" she looked at Harry—"you could start letting the world in again. I'm sure the children would love it."

To Dumbledore, she said, "I've told Mathilde before, I became Headmistress to put that boxy schooling nonsense to rest. And I told that charming young man—have you met Mr. Mizuchi yet?—that I appreciated what he did when those _elitists_ turned him away from the university library. He's got a deliciously cunning mind underneath all that civility. And he nearly fainted when he found out I had heard about the incident!" she cackled.

"Oh, you know, it would be lovely to have a house full of children." interjected Aunt Tillie, warming to the idea. "I might be able to board some of them here, if they'd like a place to stay."

"Yes, I do think you could. It would be unequivocally good."

"Well, then I'll do it!" Aunt Tillie laughed. "And since Masami and Gideon have decided to stay, maybe they'll want to be a part of it, too. But oh dear, then there are a thousand things I'd like to do to prepare…imagine how _nice_ it could be!"

"Perhaps I could stay here, too, at some point" said Dumbledore. "I should love to learn more about this place, if it wouldn't be an imposition."

"Oh, of course you must, Mr. Dumbledore!" trilled Aunt Tillie. "You're always welcome here, and bring anyone else you like. In fact—will you be staying for a while now? I imagine you'd like a bit of rest from your journey, and after that we can swap stories. I was just about to put together a little lunch as well."

Dumbledore glanced briefly at Harry. "I'd be delighted." he said.

"And you, Oliver?" Aunt Tillie asked. "Will you be staying for a while?"

He smiled. "Yes, I'd like that."

`THE END`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's how, in a mirror universe located one twist away, something much like the founding of Hogwarts took place. One full of ambition, who swore an oath in blood and learned to speak the language of snakes. One full of rhyming songs, who proved his bravery by helping others. One who took in anyone who needed a home, and who learned that self-sacrifice is not always kind. One a traveler who was strangely missing from the story, wise and full of fiery wit.
> 
> \----
> 
> I finished a fanfiction!! I've been thinking about the story for years and I'm so glad to be able to share it with you. If it meant something to you, please feel free to leave a kudos or a comment. O⚡O


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